


Deck the Halls with Dr. Stanley

by kingbooooo



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gentle Sex, Grump loves sunshine, Harry Goodsir or Harry Bestsir, M/M, Someday I will give Dundy more personality than loveable doofus but that day is not today, The True Meaning of Christmas, handjobs but like obliquely, one tiny angry dog, putting your characters in ridiculous holiday costumes for fun and profit, sunshine loves grump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingbooooo/pseuds/kingbooooo
Summary: “You know,” a voice sounded next to him.  “When I’m at a party and I don’t know anyone, I like to find someone who doesn’t look like they want to be here and see if they can fill me in on gossip.  Or judge people based on their drink choices or sweaters.”Stephen turned to appraise the stranger.“Alexander McDonald,” he said.  Tall, although shorter than Stephen.  Most everyone was shorter than him.  Sandy blond hair, kind of an old-fashioned haircut, sideburns, and an easy smile.  Not holding out his hand to shake it.  Stephen liked that.  No assumptions of familiarity.“Dr. Stanley.”“Well, Dr. Stanley, do you have a first name?  Or shall I just refer to you as doctor all evening?”- - -There are two kinds of people: people who love holiday parties, and Dr. Stanley.  Too bad he's just met a cute oncologist who happens to be the former.
Relationships: Dr Alexander McDonald/Dr Stephen S. Stanley
Comments: 16
Kudos: 40
Collections: The Terror Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning - offstage death of a minor character by a drunk driver

Dr. Stephen Stanley, infectionologist, was not enjoying the party.

He despised parties, had ever since he was a child. His mother, god rest her soul, always liked to tell her friends about the time he came home from school early to find her planning a surprise party for his tenth birthday.

“He says, he says, ‘Mother, don’t,’ and marches out of there, quick as you please. Can you believe that?”

Cue the uproarious laughter.

Eying the festivities, Stephen once again considered the myriad places he would rather be than at an office function, surrounded by colleagues who had notions about the blurring of lines between friendly acquaintances and actual friends. Stephen was sure that Americans and their eternal quest for chumminess rather than cold politeness had something to do with this erosion. 

Earlier today, he’d had to deal with a particularly nasty ingrown toenail on a fellow, some man with more looks than sense who’d gone off hiking in new boots. The smell alone could have stopped an elephant. He’d take that any day of the week over a party.

Where he’d rather be was at home, in his recliner, with the fire on (gas, of course) and a book. Or a puzzle. Or a book about puzzles. That was as close to happiness as he could envision right now.

But no, he’d been forced to attend. Well, forced was too strong a word. He’d felt forced. There was a distinction. His supervisor had encouraged it heavily. 

“Come on now, Steve.” She was the only one who he would have ever allowed to call him that. “It reflects poorly on your department when every other doctor shows up for one of these things and not you.” Silna absently petted the bichon frise in her lap, who was glaring at Stephen and growling. The dog was constantly growling, the volume going up or down based on the proximity and the character of the person talking with Silna. “Besides, we’ve invited some of the doctors from that new clinic across town. The higher ups keep making noises about poaching some of them, but you didn’t hear that from me. Anyway, just put in an appearance and then you can go retreat to your, I dunno, sleep pod.” The tiny dog gave a low bark.

That had earned her a half-smile, about the most he ever came to smiling.

So here he was at the party. They didn’t even have a good wine selection. He’d taken a glass of white (it had turned out to be chardonnay, bunch of philistines) and retreated to a far wall, checking his watch as though it would tell him when it had been a socially acceptable amount of time for him to stay.

“You know,” a voice sounded next to him. “When I’m at a party and I don’t know anyone, I like to find someone who doesn’t look like they want to be here and see if they can fill me in on gossip. Or judge people based on their drink choices or sweaters.”

Stephen turned to appraise the stranger.

“Alexander McDonald,” he said. Tall, although shorter than Stephen. Most everyone was shorter than him. Sandy blond hair, kind of an old-fashioned haircut, sideburns, and an easy smile. Not holding out his hand to shake it. Stephen liked that. No assumptions of familiarity.

“Dr. Stanley.”

“Well, Dr. Stanley, do you have a first name? Or shall I just refer to you as doctor all evening?”

Stephen shook his head slightly. He’d forgotten how prickly he could be, Silna’s words, not his. He’d worked very hard for his medical degree and most people became significantly less impressed when they found out what his specialty was, bored by the fact that he wasn’t a neurosurgeon or something equally flashy. This man seemed nice enough, and if Stephen grew bored with the conversation, he could just leave, a tactic he’d used before, most effective, he’d noted, if done mid-sentence.

“Stephen.”

“Any specialty?”

“Infectious diseases.”

At this, Alexander’s brows went up a bit.

“Oncology. I end up sending a lot of my patients your way, I suspect, or at least I will if this so-called merger goes through.”

Stephen nodded.

“So, erm…tell me about the man in that hideous Christmas jumper. Something tells me he’s an anesthesiologist. Am I wrong?”

Stephen shook his head. “You’re correct. How’d you peg him?"

“Simple. All anesthesiologists have got a bit of, hrm, American surfer to them. Very hang-loose. Suspect it’s because of the stress of the job. Knocking people out just enough so they can’t feel pain, but not too much that they die? No thank you. That jumper, though.”

The jumper he was speaking of featured a pattern of penguins marching across the front, above a row of polar bears.

“Inaccurate and tacky. It’s certainly a choice.”

That earned Dr. Alexander McDonald a half-smile as well. Stephen wasn’t sure he remembered the last time he’d smiled this much in the space of a week.

Perhaps the party wasn’t a complete wash.

\- - -

“A committee? Why, why must I be on a committee?”

What a way to ruin a perfectly good Monday.

“We need a rebranding and for some reason, the committee wants doctor input,” Silna replied. 

“Again, I must ask why? I don’t know a damned thing about rebranding.”

Silna sighed, picking up her dog. “Tunny, what do you think? Should we put you on the logo?” She kissed the top of his head before putting him in her lap, the dog’s eyes glittering with malice. Stephen stifling a groan.

“I can hear you rolling your eyes. Anyway, I happen to know you’ve got an art background, so your perspective could be useful,” she said. The dog resumed his growling. Stephen had been around dogs long enough to know that size did not necessarily indicate the magnitude of spite.

“How-”

“It’s on your CV. Second page.”

Stephen groaned again. “I didn’t think anyone read past the first page.”

“Unluckily for you, I did, and that note about your time in art school struck me as, well, a little incongruous with…” she gestured vaguely up and down Stephen’s frame.

She really was the only one who would get away with this.

“Fine. But do not expect me to enjoy this.”

Silna grinned.

“I don’t expect you to enjoy anything, Steve. But I do expect you to be polite. You’ll be representing the hospital so try to be less of an ass. For me. Or for Tunny. Who’s the best little boy?” She continued to pet the growling beast.

Tunny fixed his eye on Stephen, teeth bared, preparing to leap down to the floor. Stephen beat a hasty retreat before the dog could go after his ankles.

\- - -

It wasn’t even a committee for anything worthwhile. Silna had been mistaken. Or lied to him. She wasn’t above that, Stephen thought grumpily.

It was a committee to plan a Christmas party.

Christ.

Stephen looked around the room, his frown deepening. He recognized a handful of other doctors and staff. Harry Goodsir, PA, was there, the twerp. He’d done a rotation in Stephen’s clinic a year or two ago and he’d had a lot of ideas for someone who wasn’t a doctor, of which Stephen was almost eager to remind him of.

Why was Stephen even here? This was ridiculous. He had much, much better things to be working on, rolling his eyes when it became apparent that Goodsir was in charge of this whole damn operation. This party was going to be a complete flop.

Stephen had made up his mind to leave, bending down to slide his crossword into his bag when there was movement by the door.

“Sorry I’m late, very long line at the coffee place.” Doctor…what was his name again? McDonald. Like the farmer. Stephen couldn’t help noting the color in his cheeks, ruddy from the cold, his hair a bit tousled.

“You’re not late,” Goodsir said, smiling gently. “We’re just getting started. Looks like there’s an open place over…” He gestured towards Stephen, who realized, too late, that there was an empty seat next to him.

“Ta.”

“Dr. McDonald,” Stephen said by way of greeting, keeping his tone even.

“Oh, you can call me Alexander.”

“Rather not.”

Alexander was silent. Stephen looked over, Alexander squinting at him. 

“You are cranky, aren’t you? Not a morning person? Or not a people person?”

_Not a useless-meeting-for-a-stupid-holiday-party person._

Before he could respond, Goodsir brought the meeting to order, Stephen turning to his crossword, trying to ignore whatever the hell was happening with his heartrate. Preposterous. He didn’t hear Goodsir calling his name again.

“Dr. Stanley?”

“Oh. Hm?”

“I was hoping you could draw something for the invitations? I know we could do some slapdash clipart but-”

“I am very busy,” Stephen said tersely.

“Right. Of course. I understand.”

Someone was elbowing him.

“Do something for the party. You haven’t volunteered for anything,” Dr. McDonald said under his breath.

Stephen glared at Dr. McDonald, who had the nerve to fail to retreat even a millimeter, the eye contact growing uncomfortable.

“Fine,” he muttered through his teeth. “Yes,” Stephen said to Goodsir, who looked worried,” I’ll design something. Any parameters?”

“No, not really. Perhaps something Victorian? I’m not too picky, although I do love a Victorian Christmas. And Dickens!”

“Why did you do that?” he hissed at Dr. McDonald the moment the meeting was over.

“The whole point of any of us being here is to contribute, isn’t it?” Alexander’s face wore an expression of mild exasperation.

“Well, I am-”

“Yes, yes, very busy, as though the rest of us aren’t? It’s for charity.” Alexander paused. “Oh, did you miss that bit while you were doing your sudoku? It’s for families whose children are stuck in hospital over the holidays.”

“Oh.”

“Oh. Oh. That’s all he can say. Make that drawing sing, yeah?”

Stephen was considerably chastened, not remembering until McDonald was nearly out of the room to mumble, “It’s a crossword. Sudoku is for children.”

\- - -

“Ah, Mr. Vesconte. Was not expecting to see you back again.”

“It’s Le Vesconte.”

“Well, whatever it is,” Dr. Stanley squinted at the chart, and then back at the man’s foot. “If you don’t finish this course of antibiotics and stop hiking until this heals up fully, you are going to lose your toes. A few of them. And that’s best-case scenario.”

“But the hills, they call for me- Ouch!”

Dr. Stanley squeezed one of the offending digits.

“No hiking. No walking unless you need to. And for god’s sake, finish the antibiotics. I do not want to amputate, but I will if I have to, and Mr. _Le_ Vesconte, it has been several years since I’ve last done so, and I’m a bit rusty.”

That, fortunately, seemed to cow the recalcitrant Mr. Le Vesconte enough to take the written prescription and slink out as well as someone with a foot infection can.

Stephen rolled his eyes. This job could be such a grind. Why had he decided to be a doctor in the first place? Not to deal with patients, that was for sure. He’s always felt happiest, or at least not his grumbliest when he was back in the lab. A new infection was a new puzzle for him to figure out, and he could do it alone. Nobody to break his concentration. Whether he knew it or not, Mr. Henry something-or-other Le Vesconte had presented a fresh challenge. And he was fairly certain that Mr. Le Vesconte was not going to listen to his advice. Well, he wouldn’t be doing much more hiking if he lost a toe or two. Stephen tried to recall when he’d last done an amputation, landing on medical school.

Stephen was nearly settled in for the evening when his phone chimed, the email alert. He hated answering work emails at home. It was never an emergency – that meant a phone call.

_Reminder for the holiday party!_

He groaned. The email was from Goodsir. As much as he disliked getting pressed into service, he wasn’t about to shirk his duty, spending a half-hour rooting around in the back of his closet, locating his drawing pad and pencils.

Why hadn’t he drawn in so long? Stephen didn’t wish to dig too deep into that, but if he were to select the spot in his timeline, casting his eye to the past, it would be the death of his niece.

Sarah loved his drawings, and he’d loved buying her art supplies, watching her face bloom with delight as she drew. And then a drunk driver had hit her while she was crossing the street.

The sketchpad had been put away.

It creaked a bit as he opened it, the pages a time capsule. The first few were tentative still-life drawing, followed by a series of sketches of a cat, the rangy tom that Stephen had adopted years ago and had died last spring, then several pages of Sarah. He felt a pinprick of pain in his chest, right at the hollow.

Clearing his throat several times, he turned to a blank page, pulling out a pencil, letting it hover above the paper before it made contact. Stephen began to draw.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning - offstage death of a minor character by cancer

Dr. Alexander McDonald was not prone to flights of fancy or daydreams. Yet as he finished filling out his chart notes for the day, his thoughts invariably drifted towards a certain infectious disease specialist.

Why? Alexander had no earthly idea. The man was Oscar the Grouch with none of the charm. He was rude and imperious and just about the most sour man Alexander had ever chanced across.

But Alexander had gotten him to smile. Or at least made the impression of a smile. A promising first step on a road that seemed impossibly long. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be on it, but he also wasn’t sure he had much of a choice.

Was he supposed to feel bad for making Dr. Stanley actually do something for the charity event? Christ, even in his private thoughts he couldn’t help calling him Dr. Stanley.

Alexander smiled, shaking his head. _No fool like an old fool._ He wasn’t _that_ old, but he also wasn’t getting any younger, wasting his mental energy on such foolishness.

It was a welcome respite from work. He loved what he did, never regretting choosing oncology, but he’d had a lot of hard cases this year, and to be perfectly honest, it left him feeling a bit lacking in Christmas cheer.

He loved Christmas, but this year had him all out of sorts. One of his favorite patients, a girl who’d been in remission for several years had relapsed over the summer. Treatment had started off well, but the chemo hit harder. She took longer to recover from rounds. The infections were tougher to beat. One by one, her organs had begun to fail.

She’d died a month ago. Alexander had taken in very hard.

He’d always been the soul of Christmas, the one who spread cheer to the households of all his nieces and nephews. He got a tree, every year.

It was the second week of December and he hadn’t put a single decoration up.

Alexander was contemplating whether this was the year he might forego a tree completely when he ran into Harry Goodsir in the parking lot.

“Oh! Dr. McDonald! I’ve been meaning to speak with you about the party.”

“Please, it’s Alexander. You know you can call me that, don’t you? We’ve known each other nearly a decade, haven’t we?”

“Yes, sir, but-” Harry spluttered.

Alexander flapped his hand until Goodsir smiled.

“Alexander.”

“That wasn’t so bad, was it? Now what was it you needed?”

“It’s about the party. Would you mind terribly seeing how Dr. Stanley is coming along with the illustrations? I’m afraid…” Harry bit his lip. “I’m afraid I made a joke at his expense last year when I got engaged and now he only responds to my emails if I CC someone else and include a read receipt.”

Alexander laughed.

“I’m sure he deserved it. Don’t feel too bad. It’s good to be reminded that doctors aren’t minor gods. I’ll ask him tomorrow.” He shook his head. “I know he’s been rather rude to you in the past, so I’d like to remind you that you are one of the most talented medical professionals I’ve met. You are so good with patients.”

“Thank you si- er, Alexander. There was one other thing.” Harry looked hopeful. “You know I’m coordinating the volunteers. Well, we’ve had someone cancel, and I’m hoping you’d be willing to step in…”

\- - -

“Come on then, Ox.” Alexander was trying to muscle his way past a large black dog that was making a soft woofing noise into Alexander’s shins, his arms full with a small Christmas tree. “Move, you oaf.”

Ox did no such thing, Alexander having to push him back with his legs. “You are, without a doubt, the most obstinate pest I have ever met.” Ox barked his agreement.

Alexander set the tree down with a heavy sigh, kneeling down to pet Ox, the dog huffing happily and surging forward to lick his face. “Were you worried about me?” 

Ox had been an unexpected surprise many years ago, a stray who had followed Alexander home one night after the loss of a patient. The puppy was so skinny, so sickly, Alexander couldn’t have left him outside in the cold. He’d wrapped the dog up in a towel, brought him inside for a warm bath and a snack.

He should have known that he wasn’t going to be able to give the dog up for adoption after the vet visit, especially since he’d arrived right when Alexander needed a friend. He’d been desperately lonely. Lonely and alone, worried that he was a failure, that he was failing his patients, failing himself. And then there was another mouth to feed.

But Ox had saved him, more than once. Alexander knew animals didn’t understand hugs the way humans did, but Ox tolerated them anyways, woofing quietly as Alexander hugged him.

The tree went up in the library. The Christmas records came out from the back of his collection. Not all of the decorations made it up that night, but a significant amount emerged, delicate white lights festooning the hearth.

One shoebox was left aside, his fingers tracing along the packing tape holding it closed. No, that box would stay closed. For now.

\- - -

Apparently, their interaction at the party had counted for nothing. Alexander shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was, and disappointed, Dr. Stanley as chilly as ever.

“Goodsir sent you?” Dr. Stanley sniffed. “Couldn’t do it himself.”

Alexander bit his tongue.

“This is a group endeavor, Doctor, you know that,” he responded.

“And your role is…” Stanley’s eyes flitted over him. Alexander couldn’t help feeling as though he was being dismissed. “Doesn’t matter. You want the drawings.”

Christ, what a prick. Alexander could feel his temper rising, mentally tamping it down. This was not the time.

“The drawings,” he responded evenly. “May I see them?”

“They’re not ready,” was the curt reply.

Alexander exhaled slowly. “Would I be able to see them later this week?”

Dr. Stanley waved a hand.

Alexander had always considered himself rather easygoing. It helped in his profession, helped him sympathize with patients. He could bear the brunt of their anger, their frustration, their fear. Often his work required a light touch.

However. There were limits to that generosity and other doctors were a different story.

“You know,” he smiled, leaning in as though he had a secret to share, waiting for Dr. Stanley to reciprocate the gesture. “Well, perhaps you don’t know. Maybe you weren’t aware, but the charity is for childhood cancer patients and their families. Some of them are my patients. The ones I see every day in my clinic, the ones who spend their formative years in a hospital bed, when they should be anywhere else.”

Stanley looked as though he was about to say something. Alexander held up a finger to pre-empt it.

“Goodsir is working very hard. We all are. He doesn’t need this event to be perfect, but he does need it to be good. So I expect,” Alexander dropped his voice lower, the smile slipping from his face, his eyes flicking up to meet Dr. Stanley’s, “that your work will be good enough for my patients.”

“My work is excellent.” Dr. Stanley’s voice was soft, with a vein of dangerous anger beneath.

Alexander straightened.

“Good!” he responded, smiling. “I’m glad we talked. I’ll be back Friday to see what you’ve got.” He noted Dr. Stanley’s clenched jaw and the vein in his forehead that had become more noticeable. When he was angry, that face became a stone, solid and cold and unmoving. He must be a nightmare with patients.

“Friday.”

Alexander grinned and strode out the door.

\- - -

Why had he brought the ornaments with him, and that one in particular? Alexander wondered later. He’d intended to decorate the nondenominational tree in the lobby of the clinic, but he could have taken that ornament out.

Eloise. He could barely bring himself to say her name. She’d brought it in when she’d first gone into remission, a garishly gaudy ornament shaped like a unicorn, her gift to him at Christmas. After she’d died, he’d found it again, wrapped it up, approaching her parents at the service.

“I thought you might-” he’d held it out lamely.

“No,” her mother had said, shaking her head. “You should keep it. It was her gift to you.”

Now it was smashed into several pieces on the floor. The horn had gone skittering away. Alexander found it later, putting it in his pocket.

Dr. Stanley had stopped by with the drawing, an unexpected and not entirely unwelcome surprise. 

“Here.” He thrust his hand out, his mouth a small, flat line.

The drawings were marvelous. It was clear he’d taken a lot of care. A scene of Santa in a sleigh. A tree, decorated in ornaments and lights. Children caroling. All incredibly realistic. The art was delicate and light and charming.

He hadn’t known what to say, Alexander’s eyes roaming over each drawing. He could see it in his mind, Stephen hunched over a sketchpad, brow furrowed.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “I’ll call Harry, let him know, although you could have taken them to him directly.”

“Not after that stunt you pulled.”

Alexander turned in his chair, giving Stephen his most winning smile. “Stunt? I? No, no. I was just making sure we were all on the same page! Teamwork, you see.”

Stephen snorted, making his exit. Alexander’s office was already quite small for one. He didn’t spend much time in it anyway. The inclusion of one quite tall infectious disease specialist put free space in high demand. As Stephen turned to go, his elbow clipped the shoebox, sending it careening off the table, Alexander powerless to stop the cascade of ornaments that went spilling out, plummeting to the floor.

The ornaments went bouncing off the aging tiling, rolling away. All of them survived, except for that hideous unicorn.

Stephen must have registered the look of shock and abject horror on Alexander’s face.

“I’m, I’m sorry, let me go get a dust broom, I can replace it, I-”

“You’ve done enough. Please. Go.”

Alexander’s heart felt like it was that ornament. Good grief, he was getting soft in his old age, his anger and sadness boiling over. If Stephen didn’t leave, and soon-

“I can get another one. Alexander.” He sounded actually contrite. And he looked startled. That stony face was capable of more expression than cold disapproval and the occasional slight smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“It’s Dr. McDonald, and no, you can’t.” He breathed in slowly, exhaling through his nose. He couldn’t even look at Stephen. It wasn’t anger. It was a low fury. Outsized to the cause and misplaced at Stephen, sure, but that’s who was in front of him, the only available target.

“Get out, you sour awful man! Any apologies are not welcome! For God’s sake, can’t you move? Out! Out!” He was on his feet, jabbing a finger towards Stephen, whose face was, for once, not frowning, but surprised, brows up and pinched in confusion.

“I…” His hands were up in supplication.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Alexander shook his head. He needed to get some air. Stephen’s face registering surprise, an expression Alexander didn’t think existed in Stephen’s repertoire. Alexander grabbed his bag, brushing past the lanky doctor. 

“And another thing! If I hear another word about Goodsir that isn’t about what an asset he is to our organization, you’ll never be rid of me. He works very hard. We all do. Maybe if you didn’t have your head so far up your own ass you’d notice that!”

He was yelling. People were sticking their heads out of office doors. Shit.

“Rosa, I’m on lunch!” he said towards the reception desk as he walked swiftly out.

Alexander found a bench outside. Something cold landed on his face. Looking up, he saw it was snowing. The anger was gone, revealing the real emotion. Sadness, sadness and shame burned in his gut. Alexander put his head in his hands and wept.

\- - -

_No time like the present to face the consequences of your actions,_ he thought. This would be unpleasant business, but he needed to do it. Alexander crossed to the other clinic building. He’d confirmed that Dr. Stanley worked late most nights, and he’d rather do this while no one else was about.

He’d rehearsed his apology a hundred times in his head, each time, Stephen’s face impassive, the only expression one of quiet superiority, all of it conveyed in those arched, mocking brows. Every time it played in his head, his stomach turned. Still. As loath as he was to admit it, he’d acted badly, and he owed Dr. Stanley an apology. He drew in a deep breath, scanning his keycard to let himself in.

“Dr. Stanley?” he called out into the near empty building.

“In here,” was a distant reply. It sounded almost friendly.

Alexander followed the voice down the hall to Dr. Stanley’s office, rounding the corner to find Dr. Stanley sitting on the floor, looking up owlishly. Spread out in front of him was the ornament, the pieces of it spread out, a small superglue bottle off to one side.

He’d been trying to fix it. He had no idea why it was so important to Alexander, but he’d obviously deduced it was, and this was far beyond a simple apology.

“I-uh. Dr. McDonald. I…” His face flushed, eyes widening, voice pitched higher. He shouldn’t be embarrassed. Alexander was the one who should feel ashamed, and he did. What an utter fool he’d been, and what a jerk.

Dr. Stanley was frozen for a moment, finally looking down, his hands darting out to gather the pieces closer, covering up his progress.

“No. Please. I-” Alexander found himself crouching down across from the disarray of ornament pieces so that he could look Stephen in the eye, really, rather than peering down imperiously.

“I’m sorry,” Alexander said.

“No, I broke your ornament. I should have been more careful.” He rubbed his fingers together. Alexander could see that there were bits of superglue dried to his skin.

“Why the floor?”

“I ahhh,” Stephen looked at the pieces. “I like being able to spread out, see the whole thing. My desk is too small.”

“But the floor is dirty.”

Stephen shrugged. “I know. An infectious disease specialist not afraid of a dirty floor. How novel.” He gave a small smile.

Alexander sighed. In some ways, this was worse, Stephen being candid and…nice. Well. Nicer.

It had been a long time since he’d had to apologize for his actions. He’d had practice apologizing to patients and parents. He could say he was used to it, but one never should get comfortable with those kinds of conversations.

Here, though, the feeling, that intersection of knowing he needed to do the right thing and knowing it was because of his own actions was uncomfortable. Having to apologize to this man in front of him, who’d been trying to do the right thing, this man he most certainly did not fancy was most unpleasant.

“Please let me get this out. I was a callous asshole. I probably shouldn’t have brought those ornaments in anyway, fragile as they are. You couldn’t have known.

“I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I’m sorry.” He looked up. 

When he wasn’t scowling, Stephen looked almost handsome. If one liked cranky, balding men, tall men, men with long elegant fingers and strong square jaws. And blue eyes. And strong noses. And…

Stephen shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts. 

“The ornament belonged to someone special. Very special.” Slowly, he told Stephen the whole story, rearranging his legs so that they wouldn’t fall asleep as he sat on the floor. Whenever he stopped to collect himself, he’d glance up briefly, Stephen looking thoughtful, not saying anything. Giving him the space to get it out, all of it. He felt a tear well up, threaten to go rolling down his cheek. Alexander wiped it away quickly, hoping that Stephen didn’t see. He put his hand down on the floor to steady himself.

“I shouldn’t have brought it. It wasn’t your fault, not really, and if it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else. Probably me. This year has been very trying but it’s not an excuse. And your artwork is…beautiful.”

He was pleased to see Stephen puff up a bit with praise. 

“I’ve had patients die. Not often,” Stephen said quietly. “But I had a patient die once, before I was a doctor. I was assisting at a clinic out in the countryside. This kid came in, and he was so far gone with an infection. We tried, tried to stabilize him so we could get him to hospital, with doctors and not clinic staff, but his heart stopped after he went into shock and we…” He cleared his throat.

“I never wanted to see that happen again. So. Still working in infectious disease, but in the big city, and I don’t generally see people too far along. Except…” He shook his head. “I have this patient who won’t take his meds. He is going to lose a toe or two and they are more important to walking and balance than he thinks.”

Alexander made a noncommittal noise, scratching his eyebrow with the back of his thumbnail.

“I hope you’ll forgive me.” Stephen had fixed his gaze on the floor. “I’ve been working on this for an hour, at least.”

Alexander looked up, surprised. “An hour?”

“I’ve made some progress, but…” He picked up a piece. A hoof and part of a leg, it looked like, setting it back down with a sigh.

“It’s my medical opinion that this is beyond repair. Would you concur, doctor?”

“I would,” Stephen replied.

“An hour? Really?”

He shrugged. “At least. I kind of lost track of time.”

“Wait. I have…” Alexander reached into his pocket, the angle awkward since he was seated, fishing out the horn. He’d found it when he’d returned to his office, sufficiently embarrassed. He held it out to Stephen, who took it, their fingers brushing.

A spark, like static, but …more, going down his arm, to his chest, where his breath seemed to catch, his gaze moving slowly but inexorably up from where his fingers touched Stephen’s, where the hand tapered to an elegant wrist, up past the cuffed sleeve, where the starched Oxford stretched tight over the bicep, up to the broad shoulders. He swallowed, hard, the gaze continuing up, taking in a slight pink flush on the neck, the strong neck. Could he meet Stephen’s eye?

He did.

Eyes open wide, deep, glancing away, flitting back to Alexander, lips parted slightly.

Did he dare?

They were still in the realm of safety, and Alexander considered himself to be a man who lived in the comfort of safety, and the loneliness of safety as well.

And he had been lonely. Alone and lonely, for so very long.

Alexander licked his lips nervously, tentatively tipping his head forward, his common sense pitching headlong.

Oh lord, he’d read it wrong, it had been too long, and with someone he’d have to work with, how embarrassing. At least he could count on Ice Prince Stanley staying mum-

Lips were pressed on his, hesitant, the angle nearly nonexistent as Stephen kissed him straight on. Alexander had to smile, or he would have if he could have thought of anything other than Dr. Stephen Stanley and his lovely lips.

He tilted his head slightly, fitting his mouth to Stephen’s. Heat settled into his chest, blooming in his cheeks, their hands clasping awkwardly together, the horn making a small skittering noise as it bounced off the ground, dropped and ignored.

Alexander leaned back slightly, their lips parting.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

Stephen smiled. And what a smile it was, his cheeks rounding, his face almost elfin.

“Hi yourself.”

Down the hall, a door slammed, Alexander and Stephen springing apart.

“Cleaning crew,” Stephen mumbled, his face a stunning shade of scarlet.

Alexander stood, dusting his hands off. “Well. I should go but…thank you for trying,” he said, gesturing at the mess on the floor. “Oh.” He smiled, a thought coming into his head. “If you do want to make it up to me…”

“I’m not the one who threw a fit in front of the entire office.” Stephen was standing as well, the smile replaced by that frown. 

“A fit! That’s a wild mischaracterization,” Alexander replied. “Always so grouchy?”

“I prefer the term curmudgeon.”

“Then call it a favor.” Emboldened, Alexander stepped close, touching the collar button with one finger, seeing Stephen’s Adam’s apple bob. “I’ll owe you.”

“Fine.” Was that a smile?

“The party on Friday. One of the other staff is sick, and we desperately need someone to fill their shoes…”


	3. Chapter 3

“I look bloody ridiculous. Who ever heard of an elf over 6 feet?”

Goodsir smiled.

“Well, the elves in Lord of the Rings were very tall, so it depends entirely on the type of elf we’re talking about.”

Stephen was utterly unsurprised that Goodsir had working knowledge about the sizes of elves. He adjusted his hat, green, with a long tail and a bell on the end. The brim was red with large cartoonish elf ears stuck to the sides.

The costume was worse. A green tunic, belted, with red cuffs and a collar, matching red trousers, and bells. Bells everywhere, at the cuffs, the collar, and, good god, at the curled-up toe of each shoe.

He shook one foot, the bell jingling merrily. This was a bridge too far.

Stephen grimaced in the mirror. This wasn’t a favor for Alexander. This was torture. He should alert the U.N. This costume was a war crime.

He bit back a retort directed at Goodsir. That was another thing he’d promised Alexander. The man was so demanding. Demanding and handsome. Stephen found himself unable to think about much of anything other than that cheeky smile.

Stephen probably would have shown up for a staff meeting in the bloody elf costume if Alexander had asked.

“Well, let’s get on with it,” Stephen groused.

“Truly, you honor Christmas in your heart and keep it all the year.”

_Smartass. ___

____

\- - -

The party wasn’t as bad as Stephen had anticipated.

It was, in fact, worse.

The lights and the garlands. The punch and the finger foods. The variety of ugly sweaters, the tackiness apparently the point. Probably another cultural import from the US. The children. Why did there have to be so many children. They were so loud and colorful and happy. Why were they so happy? Didn’t they know that Christmas was just a massive overcommercialized nightmare intended to make people feel bad if they didn’t fulfill the capitalist dream of getting the elusive “perfect gift”?

“Dr. Stanley, could you please stop muttering about how it’s impossible to live at the North Pole because it’s magnetic and moves about?” Goodsir was dressed as a snowman, his costume making it difficult to walk quickly in any direction. Running away, while perhaps overly simplistic, was a feasible option.

“Oh you look so cute! The grumpy green giant.” Silna’s face lit up when she spotted him. “Look! You match! C’mere Tunny.” She held the tiny dog up who was wearing an elf hat as well. Tunny appeared to be the only creature angrier about his costume than Stephen, snarling and yapping. The dog promptly vomited onto one of Stephen’s shoes. 

“Oh god, sorry, I just changed his diet. He’s been eating nothing but tinned dog food and it was making him so sick! Poor baby,” Silna said, more to the dog than Stephen. 

Stephen was cleaning his shoe off in the restroom when he heard a commotion outside. He rolled his eyes. Let the party go on without him. He checked his phone. Nothing from Alexander. They had texted on and off, something Stephen was entirely unused to. He’d even thought about asking Silna for advice.

Alexander, who’d kissed him last week. Stephen worried it was a mistake. He had heard of such a thing. Love, or affection was, in his understanding, illogical. It would be hurtful, but he supposed, not entirely outside the realm of possibilities that Alexander had changed his mind. What had he called Stephen? A sour awful man. Maybe he was a sour awful man. 

He would very much like Alexander to kiss him again if it wasn’t too much trouble.

His shoe suitably cleaned up, Stephen stepped out of the restroom, spotting what had sparked the noise.

“Santa!” A child went tearing past him. At least there was something to distract them from him and his costume. 

“Go on then,” Goodsir said, appearing at his elbow, startling Stephen. “You’re Santa’s elf, after all.”

Better and better. Stephen found it was most difficult to stomp in elf shoes, Goodsir struggling to keep up.

“Next to Santa, if you don’t mind,” Goodsir said.

Wasn’t Santa supposed to be a right jolly old elf? This Santa was a little on the tall side. Was Santa the same kind of elf as Legolas? He hated that he was now having this debate in his head. Kids didn’t care about the relative height of Santa, but Stephen did. Accuracy meant nothing. He looked down at his miserable, jingling shoes, grumbling.

“Go on then!” Goodsir was gesturing with his carrot nose that he’d taken off. The nerve of him. The only saving grace was that here with Santa, the children’s focus was elsewhere, and there was significantly less pawing. The noise level, however, was still far too high, Stephen and Goodsir acting as crowd control for eager children and anxious parents.

The party mercifully ended, a lot later than felt necessary. If he had to hear another child say they wanted a bike or a puppy or whatever the newest toy was (from the description it sounded like it was some kind of animal that pooped rainbow silly putty), or one more “ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!” out of that Santa, he was going to quit his job and move to somewhere without cell service. He’d seen an ad for one of Canada’s territories. What was the difference between a province and a territory exactly?

He stretched his back, feeling everything crack and pop.

“And for you, young man, what do you want for Christmas?”

_I’d like for you to piss off._

“I’m no longer a young man,” Stephen said, turning. “But I could use a good bottle of scotch.”

“Well, only good girls and boys get presents from Santa! Have you been good this year?”

Stephen peered at Santa. He seemed to be overly familiar. Was that normal for Santa? He didn’t have enough experience with Santa generally, so he couldn’t gage whether this was an appropriate amount of friendliness. And there was something about the eyes.

“Well? Have you?” Santa leaned in, cocking his eyebrows. At least Stephen thought he was, under that frightful wig.

“Sir, I must insist-”

“Oh come off it.” The voice had dropped the affect. “It’s me. Alexander.” He tugged the beard down. “See?”

“I thought- I thought-”

“That I’d miss this party? Of course not. And I wasn’t about to ask you to play Santa. Who ever heard of a 6 foot 4 Santa?”

“I’m 6”3. So I was an elf.”

“All right then,” Alexander said, rearranging the beard.

“The suit is very hot and the beard itches. I’d trade it for jingle shoes any day of the week.” He reached out to Stephen, squeezing his forearm. “You’re welcome. But seriously, thank you for dressing up. The kids loved it. I heard one of them talking about the big grouchy elf.”

“Good god.” Stephen grimaced.

“Means a lot to the families. But I do have something for you,” Alexander said.

“Is it scotch?”

“It’s in my car. Oh. That dog. The one with the hat.”

Stephen suppressed a laugh. “Tunny.”

“Much too nice a name for such an evil creature. If it was any bigger, I would be worried for my life. It got me right on the heel. Luckily I had my boots on.”

“Don’t be so sure, I think, given enough time and perhaps a well-aimed leap, he could bring even me down.”

“That dog has the devil in it.”

On the way out of the building, Alexander pulled the beard and hat off, checking for any children first. His hair had gotten all mussed up, the curl on his forehead obliterated, stuck flat to his face. One piece of hair from the crown of his head had curled upward, like a small antenna. Stephen found it charming. He tried to focus elsewhere, and other than Santa’s backside as Alexander bent over, rummaging in the backseat of his car as it began to snow lightly. 

“I know artists are fussy about their materials, so I kept the receipt, but, well, here.” He held out a package wrapped in brown parcel paper.

Stephen unwrapped it carefully. It was a set of drawing pencils, in a pencil case with abalone inlay, the iridescence catching the light from the street lamp.

“Oh. Thank you.” Stephen could feel his face heating up. “I, ah, I…have something for you,” he said, Alexander perking up a bit, “but I…forgot it today.”

Alexander stepped back slightly. 

Stephen had always been a cautious man. Emotions were for other people. Strong feeling best buried deep. Rational thought. Logic. Life was best lived with careful reason.

What had that gotten him?

A career. A collection of acquaintances. A set of somewhat fulfilling hobbies. And a very empty space in his chest.

What was the worst that could happen?

Stephen bit his lip. “Would you like to come back to my place for a nightcap?”


	4. Chapter 4

It had been awhile since Alexander had gone home with anyone. Medical school, he thought, pulling his jeans on.

It had also been an awful lot of fun. 

Alexander had brought his gym bag, changing out of the Santa getup in Stephen’s austere washroom. Stephen had changed as well, although Alexander did think he looked awfully cute in the elf costume.

First was coffee, a bit of awkward smalltalk. Stephen told him of his own Christmas miracle. The idiot hiker with the infection had taken his advice, it seemed. The toes were likely going to remain with the owner.

Stephen pulled out the present, handing it to Alexander shyly.

“I didn’t have time to wrap it. It was a little tricky to render. I could hardly ask you to sit for it, now could I?”

It was a drawing of him, a black and white sketch. Alexander could only utter “wow,” over and over. He didn’t have an artist’s background, but he could tell Stephen had spent a lot of time on it. And it looked just like him. 

Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, after hours of talking about, well, everything, Alexander had put his hand on Stephen’s knee, the mood changing from jovial to heavy and serious. He knew what he wanted, and he was fairly certain he knew what Stephen wanted. He was hoping it was him. Praying.

“Shall we go upstairs?” Stephen had said lightly, as though he was asking whether Alexander preferred coffee or tea in the morning.

It had been awkward, but no less than he expected, and it was also sweet and slow.

“I don’t know what…what do you want?” Stephen had murmured into Alexander’s shoulder.

“We can just, ah, touch each other. I would like that.”

Stephen kissed him, tentatively, letting Alexander undress him slowly. The man was a marvel, a Greek Grinch god. The flush of red from his face traveled down his neck, blooming across his chest, smooth and muscled. A small bit of pressure from Alexander’s hand onto Stephen’s chest backed him up to the bed.

“May I?” Stephen asked, his hands paused at the buttons, waiting for an affirmative answer before undoing them, perhaps a tad too quickly to ensure the integrity of the thread holding the buttons, but it was very nice to be wanted, very nice indeed.

Both a bit shy nearly naked, they’d crawled under the covers. The room was a little chilly, but soon the blankets were flung back. 

It didn’t take too long for soft kissing to turn into something more, something hotter. Not a full blaze, but enough to keep one warmed. Kissing and touching and stroking and gripping and teasing, Alexander grinding against Stephen’s hands until he’d climaxed, guiding Stephen through his own release, a few minutes of haphazard cleanup before settling into each other, as natural as if they’d done it all their lives.

Where had his socks gone? Alexander stood up to look around.

“Going so soon?” Stephen’s voice was imprecise with sleepiness. 

“Ox, my dog. He’s going to be wanting a walk and brekkies.” 

Stephen sat up, turning the bedside lamp on, the light casting him in a warm glow like a modern Rembrandt. He reached out a hand, Alexander taking it. My God he is gorgeous, Alexander thought, wondering if he should also try taking up drawing. Stephen would make an excellent muse.

“You know, it does feel as though I bailed you out with that elf getup. Let me take you out for dinner, will you? Wipe the slate clean.”

“I do like the idea of us constantly owing each other, and I do like making things up to you,” Alexander said, smiling. He leaned over to give Stephen a kiss to the forehead, Stephen tilting his head up at the last moment to capture his lips.

“It’s a date.”

\- - -

A small box was waiting on Alexander’s desk and a card. He opened the card first, sliding a thumb under the top part of the envelope tucked inside.

_Dr. McDonald,_

_Thank you so much for your help. We raised so much money for the charity! You were an excellent Santa. Would you consider doing this again next year?_

_-H Goodsir_

The box was next, but it was clear they hadn’t arrived together once he opened it. Inside was an ornament. A reindeer, but a unicorn horn was glued to its forehead, in between the antlers.

_I found it in my pockets. It’s the best I could do on short notice._

_Dinner tonight? Please don’t make me wear the elf hat again. ___

___I won’t,_ Alexander thought, holding the ornament up. _ _

__The holidays were looking very merry indeed._ _

**Author's Note:**

> As someone who has spent a lot of time in the hospital, I feel very comfortable saying Dr. McDonald would make an excellent oncologist.
> 
> This fulfills my "pencil case" square for the Terror Bingo.
> 
> The biggest of thank-yous to Kami who lets me bounce ideas off him all the time and helps me proofread. <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
> 
> Come find me on Twitter! It's kiingboooo (two i's)


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